


Heavy on his Spirit

by kay_obsessive



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, High Chaos (Dishonored)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_obsessive/pseuds/kay_obsessive
Summary: Emily has an unexpected encounter while escaping Coldridge Prison.
Relationships: Emily Kaldwin/Teague Martin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Heavy on his Spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StopTalkingAtMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopTalkingAtMe/gifts).



Her father had broken out of here and so would she.

Emily repeated that to herself like a prayer as she crept through the prison corridors, avoiding the guards she could and silently removing the ones she couldn’t.

Her father had had help, of course, for his legendary escape, but Coldridge was no longer quite what it had been in his time, no longer equal to its fearsome reputation. Emily favored swift execution for the worst offenders in her city, and the prison didn’t need nearly as much security as it had once boasted in order to keep in what remained, all petty crime and politics.

He had broken out of here, and so would she.

She slipped through an unused guard station and emerged into a cell block that was largely empty of prisoners. That was good, something she could move through quickly and easily, uninterrupted.

“My, my, it’s been quite some time since the Empress herself honored me with a visit.”

Emily halted and tensed up immediately but carefully schooled the surprise from her face before she turned around.

It _had_ been a while, so long that she nearly forgot he was still imprisoned here. Teague Martin, the only survivor among all the faces that had so haunted her childhood nightmares. 

She had visited often during the early years of her reign, seeking answers or apologies or just the pleasure of seeing her enemy suffer. When she realized none of those would ever bring her the satisfaction she truly craved, she left it all behind, content, she believed, with the knowledge of him slowly rotting away as she ruled her empire.

Martin stood now with his hands resting casually on the bars of his cell, looking, as he always did, like it had been his own plan to wind up there, and it set something alight within her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you finally decided to have me executed?” he continued as she drew closer, seemingly oblivious to her clenched fists, the fury in her expression. “That would be a shame. I can’t say the last few years have all that enjoyable, but I’m still not quite ready to go.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll miss my own execution?” she snapped. “I’m sure Delilah promised you a fine seat for the viewing.”

He leaned back slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Your Majesty, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Emily blinked, then forced out a breath and let her shoulders drop. “No, you don’t, do you?” 

And why would he? Delilah had made her allies among the most powerful in Emily's court and empire. What use would she have for some old grudge locked away with the petty thieves and noble tax evaders?

With her burst of anger fading, she took a step back and looked Martin over. He was a sharp and cunning sort, influenced people easily and had been the main strategist behind the effort to dismantle Burrows’ brief rule. And it had succeeded, whatever foolish choices they’d made after. Emily would need allies herself to take on Delilah, and she had precious little room to be picky.

She crossed her arms, chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment in indecision, then said, “You always told me you regretted what you did. Would you take the chance to make it up to me if I offered it?”

Martin raised both eyebrows at that and carefully straightened up from his relaxed posture. “If what you want is within my abilities, then of course.”

“I need your help to steal a throne.”

“Ah, well,” he said dryly, “that happens to be one of my talents.”

Emily stepped away to pull the release lever for his cell door. As she came back, she drew the sword she had taken off Ramsey, right before locking his corpse away in the cell meant for her. She put the blade to Martin’s throat. “If you think of betraying me again, you’ll wish I had come here to execute you today.”

Martin did not flinch, merely lifted his chin away from the sharp edge. His eyes were dark and held something unreadable as he looked down the metal at her. “We were wrong to try and keep you from your power,” he said in a low voice. “You would have always overwhelmed us in the end.”

Emily suppressed a shudder at his tone, not mocking but _admiring_ as it rolled over her. Standing so close now, she found herself looking him over again. When she was younger, she had thought him quite a handsome man. That couldn’t be said anymore, but a decade and a half of imprisonment had, in its way, done something more interesting. He had a lean and hungry and ragged-edged look now, and it sat well with the fire that somehow still burned behind his eyes.

Perhaps it wasn’t merely anger that fueled the burning set alight within her at the sight of him.

She stepped back with a shake of her head, letting the sword drop down to her side. No time to grapple with that now, here. “Come on,” she said, jerking her head for him to follow. “We need to move.”

He bowed his head to her. “Of course, Your Majesty.”


End file.
